My 13-year-old son Jacob needed to be at school a few minutes early to help orient new students.  A little 8th Grade love being extended to the 6th Graders.

The plan was simple.  Be in the car by 7:30 and I would drop him off on the way to work.  7:30 came, I entered the garage, I was met by a quiet franticness.  You see, it was raining.  It was raining and he wanted to wear his baseball pullover jacket.  The jacket was nowhere to be found.  The search ensued.

In his dresser?  Nope.  In his closet?  Nada.  On the floor of his room?  Higher degree of possibility than you would think, but still no.  Hall closet?  Mud room?  Mom and Dad’s closet?  Brother’s rooms?  Baseball bag?  The answer for all:  still no.

All the while, as I saw the clock tick, I knew I was going to be later and later for work.  I also knew that any wrong word or sudden show of emotion might evoke an equal and opposite teen response.  An “Angst Arms Race” was on the horizon, but I stood down.

Finally, the baseball jacket turned up in his golf bag.  A list of others that were to blame was provided to me.  In a move of teen diplomacy, he did not put me on the list of those to blame.  Wise move.

As we drove to school, I estimated that I would be ten minutes late for work.  Humph.  The jacket had however been found and all conflict avoided.  Considering the circumstances, only “Half-a-Humph” seemed appropriate.

Pulling up in front of the school and looking at the time, my son jumped out of the car and headed toward the school entrance.  In mid-stride however, Jacob stopped short and looked to his left.  I waited to see if he needed something from me, but his gaze was somewhere else.  Soon I saw one of his friends striding up to meet him.  My son smiled slightly, one of those subtle “Pleased to Belong” smiles.

I smiled in turn.  Ten minutes late in exchange for seeing my son happy?  A trade I would make any day.